Surrendering To Shadow
by MoonpoetessZ
Summary: One-shot. One can only handle so much, and when they can't take any more, there is no other choice. Vaguely macabre and distinctly melancholy. Suicide.


Disclaimer- I own naught but the original plot. Known elements belong to JKR, etc. I mean no infringement on copyrights thereof.

Warning- Vaguely macabre and distinctly melancholy.

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Surrendering To Shadow

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The night seemed paltry next to the darkness encroaching upon its victim. The earth's blackness was singularly less than a soul's.

Emotion was but a tide that ushered in this debasing pain. He could feel it, as numb as he was. And every lance of feeling made the dark seem so much sweeter.

When it had gotten the best of him, he never could determine. Thoughts struggled for dominance within his mind, many of which he had hoped would leave him alone. They didn't.

Blame. It was something that he could no longer hand to some one else, to some person who may have been more capable of handling it. He had realized to his horror, and eventually, his resignation, that it belonged to himself alone. Death, pain, all that so many suffered, lay at his feet, and he had no will to deal with it.

The darkness washed over his cognizance, blissfully free of that which haunted him. But the anonymity was fleeting, gone before fully registered. He wanted it back.

Responsibility. It followed him, weighed his body as he moved, made his actions leaden. Why it was his, he didn't wish to find out. That might make it harder to dispel, to disregard, and he wasn't willing to allow anything to do that.

Out the window, stars blinked, the new moon making their light the only blazing against the velvet sky. The night was silent, except for his shallow breathing that echoed in the still room. Every breath pulled the blackness closer, as one draws a cloak over themselves.

As his thoughts once more turned to the things he wished to leave behind, the pillow grew wet with salty agony. He didn't know whether he'd be forgiven for this, but found it difficult to care, as though all recesses of pain had already been filled.

Guilt. It had become second nature to his heart. Something he lived with, even before he knew precisely why it lodged in his breast. Nothing eased it, and now he did know why it could never leave. Mayhap though, _he_ could leave _it_.

Respiration became more arduous, but he didn't bother trying to find the cause. It no longer mattered, any more than everything else.

He didn't know why some had likened this darkness to the feeling of drowning. He knew what that felt like, was submerged in overpowering floods of despair so often, that this felt only like paradise. Peace.

Repose was something he didn't know, a necessity he had never been allowed. So much else had been denied him, but this was possibly the only thing that might have saved him, made him strong enough. For everything.

No one knew the extent of what he'd experienced. Anyone who deigned to ask, was greeted with the general stories that all knew. They all felt that he had answered quite well, never realized just how little he actually gave them. He would never set them straight. Oh, they might attempt to find out now, but that was of no consequence.

He couldn't do what was needed. Had no will to even try. He wasn't even able to stop what he shouldn't have ever had to fight. Things may have been different in another lifetime, but too much apathy had forced him down this path. If anyone had tried to help . . .

Heaving another breath, he sunk deeper into the bed. Soon, the noise of the locks on his door opening would sound. Every night. It didn't matter anymore.

Pain. He was accustomed to it, saw no way to fight it. Railing against it only made it worse. So he gave in. Accepted it as real, just as he accepted the blackness as freedom.

Emotion was the thing he couldn't deal with. The thing that sent his body to shaking, his spirit crumbling. He'd never learned how to handle that kind of pain- loss, despair, fear. He gave up trying.

A trembling smile turned his lips. _What would everyone think if they could see this?_ As hard as that was to ponder, it was just as difficult not to. The torment of the thought of the disappointment was almost enough to force him to raise. It didn't, in the end.

His hand shook as he rubbed it over the scar on his forehead. While he'd gotten used to the ache, it still liked to make itself known. It was a consist remainder of all that was expected of him, all that he had now chosen not to do.

Crimson joined the clear puddles on his pillow, but he didn't notice. His arm dropped back to his side.

The stars out the window now seemed above his head, the light part of his vision. His body shivered of its own accord, his breathing turning raspy. The oblivion worked its way into his mind, and he easily let go of his thoughts.

As more dark than light became all he could see, he gasped. Instinctually he grasped hold of consciousness, no longer clearly thinking, only reacting.

Vaguely he heard footsteps in another room, a door open in the hall. He tensed, memories as incoherent as whispers lashing across him. Swiftly they turned from this hell to the other, a breath of prophecy sounding in his ears.

Instinct that had fought now let go, and he breathed harshly, closing his eyes. As the racing of blood slowed in his veins, shadows overcame his mind.

He surrendered to it.

* * *

In another world, wizened hands pulled a rolled parchment from a white owl. He somehow realized that it did not bode well, and stared for a long moment at the red string securing it closed. 

Finally, the elderly wizard untied the binding. Just as he was unrolling it, an alarm sounded from next to him. He barely registered the wailing and flashing of the wards as he read the stark words.

_I can't do it. I can't even save myself. Find someone else to live that destiny._

The unsigned letter floated to the floor as the man's hands shook. He never noticed the tears that fell onto his desk, as he closed his eyes with a sigh.

* * *

-Finis- 


End file.
